


made with love

by 99jun



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, i'll add in more tags as this gets updated!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99jun/pseuds/99jun
Summary: "welcome to wong & co.!"in which dejun, having run away from stardom and everything in between, now finds himself being surrounded by hills of baked goods in a certain bakery named wong & co. he's applying for the job with the promise of free egg tarts (and the money), but maybe something more too.
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hello! im back from my first short ficlet~ this will hopefully be my first multi-chaptered fic! still relatively new to all this writing stuff so please bear with me for any mistakes since this will be unbeta-ed! U__U nonetheless, i hope this first chapter excites you :]

“Jun, catch!”

There’s a faint metallic tang hanging in the boxing gym, but Dejun doesn’t know if it’s from the rusting steel frames of the arena or the iron running through his blood. It doesn’t matter to him though, at least not now— he has more important things to worry about. Like how he’s bleeding through the fabric around his knuckles or how a snack is being tossed towards him—

—which ends up hitting him square in the face. It lands pathetically on the ground between his feet, much to someone’s amusement.

“Ah,” Sicheng chuckles under his breath as he claps Dejun on the shoulder, motioning for him to get going. “Come on.”

The younger gives an inward groan, looking up to find a finger wagging at the shiny plastic on the ground. “Pick up the snack.” Sicheng grins, throwing a towel over his shoulder and starting towards the car pulled up outside the gym. 

‘ _Dried cod fish strips_ ’, the packet reads as Dejun picks it up between his fingers. 

He smiles to himself; Sicheng always knows the perfect way to get him going after a particularly intense boxing session. Ever since he’d stumbled upon a boxing gym tucked away in the alleyways of Cheongdam-dong, Sicheng managed to convince the younger to join him in learning the new sport. (“ _I don’t plan on building muscle_ ,” Xiaojun states dryly, but Sicheng finds him in the mirror one morning flexing his _barely-there_ biceps.)

It’s not a bad sport, Dejun comes to realise. In fact, he finds himself throwing punches at the boxing gym even more frequently than Sicheng now. Not a surprise; he has a lot to take out on the poor red Everlast bags. Like the frustrations which come with missing a step in their choreography. Or the way his vocal instructor snaps at him, dumping all of his handwritten sheet music onto the floor. Or even how his group members watch him on dejectedly, as he sinks against the wall and waves them off dismissively. 

He’s a lost cause, or at least that’s what he thinks he is. The boy currently slumped over in the car seat doesn’t do justice to the dozen trophies lining the shelves in his home back in Dongguan. He buries the thousands of destructive comments under painfully wide smiles and sugar-coated replies, but those can only hold up for so long, he thinks as they turn a corner, their apartment complex looming overhead.

The car halts to a stop in front of the building, and Sicheng has to lightly pat Dejun on the shoulder before he realises they’ve arrived back at the dorm. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Dejun accepts Sicheng’s hand and they start towards the main lobby.

“There’s something on your mind,” Sicheng takes a bite from his meat bun, words slightly muffled. Dejun slows his pace, but doesn’t stop. “I can tell.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not asking about dinner. Which is what you _always_ do after we box.” Sicheng states matter-of-factly, but as he turns towards Dejun, the witty smile on his face softens into a thin line. 

The younger’s eyelashes weigh down heavily against his cheeks, obscuring Sicheng’s view of his eyes. There’s sweat trickling down his temples and Sicheng almost swears he can see Dejun’s lower jaw trembling. 

“Ah…” Sicheng gives his hand a bone-crushing squeeze, his fingers curling around Dejun’s. “We’re almost home.”

If Dejun is sobbing even harder on the inside than before, he doesn’t let it show, instead wiping the back of his hand against his cheek. He’ll have to talk this through later when they get back home. Because Dejun doesn’t know if he can keep this act up for any longer. 

____________________________________________

Back in the dorm, everything’s uncharacteristically idyllic. Kun flicks through movies on the television while Dejun pampers Bella on the couch. Rays of warm orange filter through their windows in the late afternoon, and Ten trots over with a bowl of whatever snack he’s whipped up for the three of them. They settle on a cheesy rom-com, but one of them has already tuned out before they can even hit play. 

Dejun is supposed to be immune to rumours, destructive criticism, and everything in-between. When he went from being a humble schoolboy to an international idol, he should’ve known that public opinion of him— both good and bad— would always follow him. Being in the entertainment industry— through reality checks and mentally-exhausting experiences— had taught him to compartmentalise. Focus only on the good, ignore the bad. It’s become a daily mantra for him, one that he holds close to his heart because without it, Dejun doesn’t know how he’d manage. 

But as he sits on the couch that afternoon, sandwiched between Ten and Kun cradling Louis in his arms, Dejun finds himself in a state of agony. It’s not the agony that comes with a pulled muscle or a particularly bad lecture (both of which he had experienced earlier that morning, though). He feels suffocated for some reason, like the world revolving around him has come to a standstill, and it’s just him alone against everything else. 

Before he knows it, he’s up and making a run for his bedroom, leaving Ten and Kun to question why he’s left halfway through their movie. Dejun slams the bedroom door open a little harder than he intends to, hastily turning the knob shut and leaning with his back against the door. 

Dejun doesn’t know how long he sobs for. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t even know if he had stopped sobbing since he stepped into the car with Sicheng. Turfing out his eye drops, he tips his head back and applies two drops of saline to each eye, gently closing both eyes afterwards. Dejun wonders if he looks ridiculous doing this, wide-mouthed and mobile-eyed. He wonders if this happens during REM sleep cycles. He wonders if he’s even achieved REM sleep at all in the past few months. Probably not. 

Just as he’s about to pat a tissue against his under-eyes, Ten bursts into the room like an overzealous puppy, waving about the television remote. “Dejun, the movie’s still going!”

The saline in Dejun’s eyes just slightly blurs the remote, and he squints at the older to get a closer look. However, the look on his face must be questionable because Ten’s grin falls and he holds up a hand to his mouth in feigned shock.

“Are you _crying_?”

“No,” Dejun’s words come out a little harsher than he expects them to, and he has to repeat them in a softer tone. “No, I’m not.”

He doesn’t think he deserves this. It’s one thing to feel the comfort of another person, shoulder-to-shoulder with Kun as they lie on their backs. The older talks him through everything on his mind, in an obvious bid to distract. Kun reminds him of everything radiant— the warm ochre color of Leon’s fur, his comforting sky blue hoodie, the colourful tie-dye bucket hat on his desk.

But it’s another thing when the pent-up hurt and frustrations well up in his chest, and Dejun knows there’s no outlet to let them flow through. Kun listens patiently, sure, but Dejun is almost a hundred percent sure none of his words register. Dejun’s the hazy, dark brown of Leon’s irides, the black hoodie draped over his chair, the dirt on the flip side of his Air Force 1’s— he’s everything Kun isn’t. Dejun swallows, but the ocean rising in him doesn’t go down. 

That night, he leaves two full bowls of cat kibble by the door. “Be good kids.” He scratches the top of their heads, letting Leon play with his shoelace for the last time. Then, he’s gone, and the unmade bed makes it seem like he never left at all.

____________________________________________

This sudden rush to pack his bags, fly across a whole sea, then land himself somewhere foreign, is probably not the best way to salvage the damage he’s done, Dejun figures. That said damage involves the hundreds of missed calls and texts on his long-ago turned-off mobile phone. And the dozens of managers scrambling to locate Dejun. And the headlines plastered all over the internet as he walks with his hands in his pockets. 

**BREAKING NEWS: WAYV’S XIAOJUN FOUND MISSING**

**WAYV’S XIAOJUN LAST SEEN IN DORM, CURRENT WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN**

But as Dejun stands in the middle of an alleyway, red lanterns hung high in the sky and the faint, sweet scent of roasted chestnuts lingering in the air, he has an epiphany. His heart pounds in trepidation, because he’s done it. For a moment, he leaves behind the fame, glory and pride. Dejun watches as dozens of passersby scurry past him, none of them sparing a glance his way. He watches as a few young kids play hopscotch on faded chalk, watches as a couple of elderly ladies sit around to play chess, watches as street vendors shove their heartfelt crafts into people’s hands. For the first time in a long time, Dejun feels invisible. 

And it makes him break out into a heartening smile. 

____________________________________________

Dejun meanders along an alley, eyes roaming for a place to crash for the night. He almost wants to laugh at his current predicament, because how could a world-class idol land himself in a situation where he has to worry over having a shelter over his head? Being adamant in finding a tiny motel to stay in, he continues searching for a place. 

At the very end of an alleyway, Dejun finally stumbles across a motel. The exterior is dreary; half-torn posters dangle from the walls and the motel’s sign hangs slightly askew. But the sight makes him smile. Because it reminds him of his hometown, and everything he’s missed after moving to Seoul.

There’s an old man seated behind the counter, glasses resting on the tip of his nose and his expression somewhat benevolent. Pulling down his cap for extra measure, Dejun enters through the front doors, his heart rabbit-fast underneath his deceivingly calm demeanour. 

“Good morning uncle,” Dejun rubs the back of his neck, unsure of how to start. He eyes the guest board behind the man, then back at him. “Room for one?”

“Ah, sure,” the man flashes him a wide grin, before bending down to fish a logbook out, sliding it across the counter. Dejun scribbles down the necessary details, pausing once to think of a false name for himself (Jun Hao will have to do, he figures), before he looks back up to find the elderly man staring straight at him. 

This is it, Dejun thinks. He’s been found out, the man will recognise him and he’ll get sent back to the company, isn’t it? Then he’ll have to face the music and explain a hundred times over and his manager will—

“Leng zai!” The man flashes him a self-assuring smile coupled with a thumbs-up, leaving Dejun dumbfounded. Did the elderly man really just call him handsome? Not knowing if he should laugh or cry, Dejun hides his face in his hands, peeking between his fingers to find the man behind the counter chuckling heartily. 

“My son is just about to return home, you two sh—” The elderly man gives Dejun a suggestive look, mimicking a handshake. 

“Thanks uncle!” Before the man can finish his sentence, Dejun grabs the keys from the counter, slides him enough cash for two nights, and makes a dash for the stairs up to his room. His face flushes bright red, and he only has the dimly lit stairwell to thank for covering him up. 

“ _Welcome to Macau!_ ” The elderly man shouts from behind, and Dejun knows he’s already grinning widely without even looking back. 

____________________________________________

Dejun sets his luggage down, before sprawling on the single bed, spread-eagle with an arm over his face. He’s managed to settle down, that’s one box checked, but something far more important awaits for him a thousand miles away.

Or, technically, a couple of inches, because his phone hasn’t stopped buzzing with calls since he’d turned it on a few minutes ago. Scrolling through a flurry of notifications, he huffs flippantly at people he could care less about, until his eyes settle on a missed call from Kun. Something about imagining Kun, pacing anxiously in the dorm for Dejun to return home, makes his heart fall to the ground. 

Somehow, the thought of talking to Kun now seems unsettling, almost as though he’s ashamed of letting his leader— no, the entire group— down. The phone barely rings for a second before Dejun hears a faint buzz of static, then Kun’s voice through the speakers.

“Dejun?” Kun’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, but he also senses a hint of sorrow. Dejun expects a flurry of shouts for him to return or someone to bark in his ear for doing such a stupid thing, but he gets the calming voice of someone on the other end of the line instead.

Dejun sighs, turning onto his side with his hand over his midsection. “Hey, Kun.”

“What happened?” A lot actually, Dejun wants to answer. But to keep things short, he smiles against the bed. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “but I don’t regret what I did.”

Kun sighs, not out of judgement for Dejun, but one of genuine concern and worry. “You don’t have to tell me where you are right now.” Kun pauses briefly. “But I need to know if you’re safe, Dejun.” 

He nods by reflex, even though he knows the boy on the other end of the line can’t see him. “I am, and I will be.” Dejun feels his heart well up in warmth, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Promise you’ll keep in touch? I’m still responsible for your safety, you know?” Kun lets out a small laugh, but what Dejun doesn’t see is how a thousand miles away, the other boy has silent tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“I will, Kun.” Dejun promises, then asks. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Tell the others not to worry. I’ll be fine, I just don’t think I’m ready to face them yet.”

Kun gives a hum of approval. There’s a long pause, before he speaks up again.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

“I think I’m going to try finding myself again.”

____________________________________________

The area isn’t as foreign as Dejun thought it would be, which surprises him. Everything reminds him of his hometown, from the aroma of freshly baked pineapple buns, to the childish laughters emanating from every alleyway, to the overly friendly ladies who try to sell him their freshly-made street food. It’s a striking contrast to sitting at the end of a meeting room, surrounded by three-piece suits and seeing out of tinted windows as he’s driven around in a private car.

Dejun isn’t sure if the stars have aligned for him, or if he is just too good at being discreet, but not a single person has recognised him thus far. Passing by a magazine stall, he expects to see his face— or his group— plastered onto the front of every cover, but what pleasantly greets him is pictures of the idyllic countryside of Macau. 

That’s a problem cleared, but there’s still one more, though. 

He fishes out his wallet, running his fingers through dozens of cards before picking out his credit card. The name _XIAO DEJUN_ is elegantly embossed in silver, a stark contrast against the space-black background of the card. There’s no way he’s going to use his card, or withdraw any money from it, so there lies the issue.

Dejun never expects to even think about this, but he’s quite literally running out of cash. 5 notes of 100 Hong Kong dollars each. For the next few days, or however longer he chooses to stay here. He looks down at the box of egg tarts he’s holding in one hand and the prepaid phone card he’s just paid for in the other. That’s another half gone, just like that. Making a mental note to better manage his spendings, he approaches the front of the motel, but not before almost being scared out of his wits by the man at the front desk (Uncle Li, that’s what his name is, Dejun has come to learn). 

“Jun Hao!” Dejun quite literally flings the box of egg tarts upwards, nearly jumping out of his skin as he looks up to find Uncle Li smiling back down at him. “Why the scared face?”

“Ah… Uncle Li, please don’t frighten me…” Smoothing down his pants, he does a once-over to check if the egg tarts are intact, then sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. Being on high alert has definitely made him even more jumpy, but Dejun hopes this doesn’t make him too suspicious. 

“Silly boy, come in! It’s getting cold.” Dejun sees Uncle Li as a father-like figure, and he can’t help but feel a rush of warmth in his chest. Something about a stranger he’s only met a few days ago showing him this much affection makes him want to reach out and hug him. Being in a foreign place is terrifying, but at least Dejun knows Uncle Li is welcoming. 

“It’s your last day, right?” The older man goes back to reading the papers, simultaneously sipping from his cup of coffee. Right, Dejun has only paid for two days, and he’ll lose the shelter over his head tomorrow morning. Maybe that box of egg tarts wasn’t exactly the most necessary thing to get given the situation he’s in (but they’re egg tarts, who can blame him?), he thinks. 

“Mm,” Dejun hums softly, lowering his gaze. “I’m out of cash, actually…”

“Ah, but you wish to stay here longer, right?”

Dejun nods, and he thinks the look he’s giving Uncle Li is almost pitiful. 

“Why don’t you try finding a job?” The older man stands up from his seat behind the counter, and Dejun tags along as he ambles out of the lobby. 

The exterior walls of the building are littered with all sorts of papers— posters for community events, tourism ads and recruitment flyers. Dejun scans the wall; most of the flyers are for office jobs and construction work. The thought of sitting in another meeting room, dozens of prying eyes looking his way leaves him shuddering. A low-profile job would be nice, something like—

“This one!” Uncle Li prods a finger at one of the papers stuck to the wall. It’s a simple flyer, one with a beige background and barely any words on it, but he is immediately drawn to it. The older man looks down at the egg tarts Dejun is holding, matches them to the ones illustrated on the flyer, then gives him a knowing look.

“Your favorite, right?” Uncle Li grins, pleased with himself to have possibly matched Dejun to a perfect job. It is indeed perfect for Dejun, though. Because this job doesn’t involve all eyes on him round the clock, doesn’t involve paperwork, and most importantly, is the last place on earth anyone would expect to find Xiaojun, a world-class idol working in. 

A bakery is hiring. More specifically, Wong & Co. Bakery.

“Yes,” A smile befalls on Dejun’s lips, “they’re my favorite.” 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! first off, something important!! i only realised last night that some details in the first chapter had to be changed in order to let the whole fic flow T___T sorry for not thinking it through aaaaa if you want you can re-read chapter 1! but basically, what’s changed: in this fic, wayv only consists of four members: kun, ten, winwin and dejun! the other three… will appear soon… somewhere far far away from the wayv dorm… :-P read on to find out!

With a half-eaten egg tart in one hand and a map of Macau in the other, Dejun thinks he looks a lot like a lost tourist. Except, he is one. His phone screen displays the estimated time by foot— five minutes. “Feels like forever…” Dejun mumbles to himself, shoving the last of the pastry into his mouth and looking back up to navigate his way through the bustling alleyways of Macau.

There are a couple of bakeries lining the alleyway; a boulangerie with the fanciest signboard Dejun has ever seen, a patisserie with mille-feuilles lined by the window, and finally, a quaint little bakery at the very end. 

Giving the humble establishment a once-over, Dejun looks back down at his phone to match the name of the bakery to the somewhat-quirky looking signboard. _Wong & Co _, this should be it, Dejun smiles to himself. The board is freshly-painted in a shade of warm cream, embellished with fake daisies, and for a final touch— a tiny beagle statue sitting atop the sign. 

As he sets foot into the homely-decorated bakery, a feeling washes over him. It’s a crossbreed of emotions between peace and excitement; something about the hustle and bustle of the city slowly fading out as the glass doors close behind him convinces him that he is right where he should be. 

The place isn’t as big as he had imagined, but it’s perfect for him. Freshly baked pastries and loaves of bread line the shelves, an assortment between cream-filled buns and— oh, are those egg tarts?— cakes flecked with hearty grains and seeds. Dejun’s eyes trail southwards, landing on the display rack stacked full of portugese egg tarts, a staple for every bakery here in Macau. They looked so good they could probably make regular customers from the grumpiest curmudgeons.

At the very back of the shop, Dejun notices a boy about his age, dark hair falling across his eyes in waves. Pretending to scan through the shelves of bread, he continues observing the boy, almost instantly noticing the white t-shirt plastered against his abdomen and— _oh shit are those abs?_ Before Dejun creates an opportunity to make an utter complete fool of himself, the boy mindlessly grabs an pink-colored apron and ties it around his waist. Dejun wishes he could untie it and grab it away, for reasons. _Damn_.

He means for that last word to register mentally, but clearly it doesn’t, because the next thing he hears is the boy calling out for him. _Bad move, Dejun, now you’ve started a conversation_ (but isn’t the whole point of being here to get the job?).

“Hello, can I help you?” The boy dusts his flour-stained hands on his apron, head hanging slightly to the side. Neatly embroidered in white thread are the initials G.H., sewn in the middle of the apron pocket. Dejun thinks he looks like a clueless puppy— more specifically a chocolate toy poodle— but that’s definitely _not_ what he should be thinking about now.

“Hi,” Dejun meets the other’s eyes, and he pushes himself to continue his sentence. “I’m here from the job advertisement?” 

The boy frowns slightly, looking up at the ceiling as if letting Dejun’s words sink in. “ _Job advertisement?_ ”

 _Oh my god, he knows who I am_ , Dejun makes a silent prayer to every deity out there as the other boy gives him a once-over. “You’re… hiring right?”

“Oh yes, sorry,” The boy brings the heel of his palm to his forehead, giggling softly. “Just… didn’t expect someone like you to turn up.” 

Dejun huffs playfully, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “And why is that?” A slight blush settles on the other boy’s face, and before Dejun can pry any further, he gives a shy, dismissive wave. “It’s nothing, really…”

It’s Dejun’s turn to counter. “Well, _you_ aren’t someone I expect to find here too!” 

“Hm, why?”

“You’re really young,” Dejun shrugs, scanning the interior of the bakery. “I was almost expecting a grumpy old lady to be sitting behind this counter, you know, like how it is in the movies.” 

The boy laughs softly, and Dejun takes notice of the way his eyes crinkle up into their own smile and how dorky his laugh sounds.

“It’s just me and another boy running this place.” The other gives a small smile, then juts out a hand towards Dejun. “Oh, I’m Hendery, by the way.” 

“Xi—” Dejun catches himself at the last second, and the moment of hesitation seems to confuse Hendery just the slightest. “Jun Hao, yes, that’s me…”

“Nice to meet you, Jun Hao!” Dejun swears his heart is going rabbit-fast against his ribcage.

“I’ll ask you a few questions, then relay your answers to Lucas, if you don’t mind?” Hendery seems to notice the confusion on Dejun’s face, and he’s quick to explain it to the clueless boy. 

“Lucas is the other boy running this place with me! He’s gotta know about you too, so…” Hendery rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, okay!” Dejun gives a tiny nod.

Preparing for possible questions from his employer on the plane was definitely helpful, as Dejun receives an onslaught of curious questions from Hendery. Questions like where he’s from and what brought him here are answered with ease by Dejun. But what he doesn’t expect is for Hendery to come to a conclusion which has him frozen like a deer caught in headlights. 

“I think our bakery isn’t a fit for you, unfortunately.” Hendery clasps his hands together, a disappointed pout on his lips. Dejun has to blink a couple times. 

“What…” He starts, but before he can question further, Hendery taps the box of eggtarts in his grasp. 

“It’s just…” Hendery feigns a loud sigh, “these egg tarts here are from our dear _competitor_.” He points a thumb backwards over his shoulder, forcing out a smile. 

Dejun wishes he could dig himself a hole to the core of the earth and never surface again, at least not in a million years. He had forgotten to drop the box off in his motel room before heading here to get the job. 

“Sorry, I’ll just—” As Dejun is about to head out with the intention of stuffing the box deep into a garbage can, Hendery places a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Hendery flashes Dejun the most smug grin he’s seen. “Because our egg tarts are still the best in town!” Throwing his head back to laugh, the boy gently takes the bag from Dejun and stores it under the counter. “Come on, let’s head to the back to talk."

____________________________________________

“So, why this job?” Hendery rests his chin on both fists, “I mean, why not… an office job?” 

The two boys are sitting in a little patio by the back of the shophouse— it’s just a weathered picnic bench and an expanse of neatly-trimmed grass— but the sheer tranquility makes Dejun sink into his chair. 

“If you want a politically-correct answer, it’s that I hate people.” Dejun toys with one of the leaves from a fake plant in the middle of the table. “It’s nice and serene here, away from the public’s eye…”

“Public’s eye?” Hendery quirks an eyebrow, clearly questioning his choice of words. “ _Are you famous or something?_ ”

“Just don’t want to be surrounded by too many people, if you get what I mean…” Dejun recovers smoothly, internally chiding himself for coming to a close shave with spilling his entire secret. 

“Gotcha!” Raising his bread towards Dejun, he takes a bite from it. “Bread is _ten times better_ than humans.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust, then breaks into a soft chuckle from his own humour. Dejun keeps his eyes trained on every little detail of the boy sitting across from him. From the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners to his pearly-whites gleaming in the late afternoon sun to how—

“You previously said you were from somewhere… far away, right?” Hendery breaks Dejun out of his momentary reverie. He really needs to keep his guard up and _stop staring_. “Where are you staying at the moment?”

“Um… Yeah,” He slumps his shoulders slightly in disappointment, reminded of how today would technically be his last day at the motel. “I’m actually running out of cash, you see…” Dejun begins to explain his predicament, trying his best to spin out something believable for Hendery. The boy sitting across from him is silent, until he suddenly sits straight up and Dejun almost sees the lightbulb in his head illuminate. 

“You can stay at our place!” Hendery brightens up, excitement clear on his features. So, a total stranger Dejun has only _just_ met is offering him a place to stay. It’s an extremely suspicious move, Dejun knows this, because the warning bells are already starting to go off in his mind. 

“Sorry, let me explain,” Hendery must have noticed the slightly mortified expression on Dejun’s face, because he quickly runs the other boy a breakdown of _101-reasons-why-staying-in-a-motel-is-definitely-not-economical_. It’s clearly not an excuse for Hendery to offer Dejun his place as an accommodation choice, but Hendery seems so excited, the other boy is slightly reluctant to question any further.

“And lastly, we have a spare room up top. It’s nicely decorated, the view is spectacular, and the bed is super—”

“You’re really offering me a place to stay?” Dejun interrupts in the politest way he can, and he watches the smile from Hendery’s face fall momentarily, before turning into a faint curve of his lips. 

“Of course! If you’re going to be working here from now on, I don’t see why you shouldn’t stay close by.” Dejun feels his heart palpate with warmth, and the other boy’s kind gestures makes him break out into a smile for the umpteenth time that day. 

“And the job?” Dejun asks meekly, but Hendery just smiles towards the ocean adjacent to the bakery. “Wouldn’t have offered you a place to stay if you weren’t going to get the job by now, would I?” With his heart fluttering in excitement, Dejun finally sighs in relief, but not before a moment of hesitation.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t have any experience in baking and there’s definitely someone out there more capable of this job than I am…”

“Doesn’t seem like it…” Hendery turns around to see only one or two customers milling about the shelves; the bakery looks sparse for now, but Dejun hopes the bustle will kick in later. “I’m just kidding, of course you got the job!” Hendery leans over to pat Dejun on the shoulder, before turning on his heels to re-tie his apron and disappear back into the bakery. “Ask for Yangyang, he’ll show you around!” 

____________________________________________

“Aim for the left, you dimwit!” Dejun stops in his tracks to find a boy crouched behind the counter, a device of some sort in his grasp. He has earbuds on, so Dejun assumes he’s completely oblivious to his presence. 

“Hello, are you Yangyang?” Tapping the boy’s shoulder, Dejun takes a step back as the other boy jerks back in shock at the sudden interruption, immediately removing his earbuds and letting them dangle around his neck. “Oh, yes, yes that’s Yangyang. I mean, _I’m_ Yangyang, yeah!” He trips over a few words, but there’s a faint, amused smile on Dejun’s face. 

There’s a long pause, and Dejun realises that Yangyang has been staring at him for the past ten seconds after the mini interruption he had caused. He sighs, when exactly will he get past this phase of _oh-my-god-someone’s-staring-at-me-they-definitely-know-who-i-am_? Never, Dejun thinks, as he palms his hands against his pants in sheer distress. 

“Do you know who I am?” He blurts the words out before he can even think, covering his mouth with one hand when the reality of what he had just asked sets in. Dejun braces himself, opening one eye a tiny fraction to anticipate Yangyang’s response. 

“Of course I do!” Yangyang side-eyes Hendery, who’d just walked in with a washcloth in his hands. “I _definitely_ know who you are.”

In that instant, Dejun wishes he could make a run for the hills or bury himself alive, if he’s being completely honest. He’s been so close to being found out, but now that it’s actually happening, he feels the entire world collapsing around him. That is, until he looks back up, now glassy-eyed to find Yangyang looking straight at Hendery with a sickeningly wide grin.

“You are…” Yangyang starts, pausing for dramatic effect.

“Hendery’s type!” Before he can fall victim to the older boy’s grasp, Yangyang is already off and sprinting towards the patio, leaving Hendery to groan with one hand slapped across his eyes. “Sorry about that.” Hendery mumbles softly, before awkwardly fumbling with his words again. “You are… you… yeah.” With that, the other boy slinks away from Dejun, like an embarrassed cat with its tail between both legs. 

Dejun stifles another giggle, but what he doesn’t show is how seeing the other boy getting so flustered leaves him feeling like he’s just gotten the sweetest kiss ever. 

____________________________________________

Dejun has come to realise that the wood panelling on the wall is indeed a thousand times more interesting than facing reality. That reality involves his deliberately-muted phone and his imagination of what could be happening back in Seoul. Pure, unbridled chaos, he imagines— thousands of news articles being churned out, managers scurrying to locate him, and everything else that gives him a reason to stay right where he is and never go back. 

So far, he’s only talked to Kun since escaping to Macau, and deep down in some crevice of Dejun’s heart, he feels bad. He feels bad knowing that the other members have no clue of where he is, or even if he’s alright. They don’t deserve this, not after everything they’d done for Dejun. If not for the members, he thinks he would’ve disappeared a long time ago. They are— or have been— his lifeline, but lifelines can only hold him up for so long before he has his head underwater again.

He wedges the phone between his cheek and shoulder, praying that Kun doesn’t pick up. Dejun owes him an apology, and an explanation, and he thinks it’s only a matter of time before he’s forced to do it. 

The line picks up in less than three seconds, and Dejun mentally braces himself for the onslaught he’s about to release on Kun. 

“Dejun?” The other boy’s voice is still filled with concern, but this time Dejun senses a tinge of relief with it. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I am.” Dejun fiddles with a loose thread from the quilt, unsure of how to start. 

“You can talk to me now, I’m just packing up after practice with Winwin.” Even in a short span of two years, Dejun has come to treat Kun like the closest brother figure he has in his life. Even though Kun is the one who constantly reminds him of the mistakes he’s made during practice, he’s the only one who stays behind with Dejun. Only when the train services close for the night and the staff chases them out of the building, do they walk shoulder-to-shoulder back to the dorms together in the middle of the night. That’s Kun— he brings the storm, but he also makes sure there’s a shelter over your head and accompanies you through it. In a moment of silence, Dejun decides to let the ocean of words flow through. 

“I really needed a break,” Dejun confesses in a whisper, feeling like the most pathetic human being alive. _Everyone needs a break, it’s not just him, so why did he run?_ “I felt like I was underwater, like I was being suffocated alive. It was really never my intention to suddenly run away, but I just… I just didn’t know what to do anymore.” 

Kun doesn’t interrupt, and Dejun takes it as a sign for him to continue. If he’s already spilled this much, it’ll hurt less to just let everything all out at once. “I’m tired, Kun-ge. And even though I’m somewhere far away, I still feel the strain and exhaustion which comes with everything that’s happened in the past few months.” 

Dejun stalls for a moment, but what he doesn’t expect is for Kun to apologise. “Dejun, I’m so sorry, I really should’ve…” The older boy trails off, and Dejun hears a crack in his voice at the end. “I should’ve known what you were experiencing.”

“Don’t be,” Dejun laughs bitterly, shaking his head even though Kun can’t see it. “You know I keep everything to myself, right? I don’t blame you, Ge.” 

“But I should’ve known, really.” Dejun can sense the weight and sincerity of Kun’s words, and it makes him feel guilty for all the times he’s hid from the others. “Your resident block of iron never falters!” Dejun attempts a light-hearted joke to make Kun smile, and he does so himself when he hears Kun chuckle softly over the line. 

“I just want you to be happy and safe, that’s all I’ve ever hoped for you all.” Kun concludes, and Dejun feels his heart swell with emotions. It’s one thing to know that Kun is fine with his decision to move across an entire sea, but it’s another to know that all Kun ever asks for is his happiness. And that’s what he’ll try to find back again as he starts afresh in this new place. 

“Talk soon, okay?” Dejun can almost hear the tremble in Kun’s voice, but the older boy continues. “Remember to send some pictures over!” The last sentence sounds like it’s said through tears, and Dejun’s heart clenches. 

“Thank you, Kun-ge. Always.”

As soon as the call ends, Dejun’s phone pings with a notification. 

FROM: HENDERY 

> sewed this on for u :-P get it from below the counter tmrw!

He opens the attached image to find an olive-colored apron. Just like he’d guessed, the middle of the pocket is embroidered with the initials J.H. Dejun almost regrets giving Hendery a fake name. Maybe one day, he’ll see the initials D.J on his apron instead. 

But for now, Dejun is just excited to start afresh somewhere foreign, where he’s only known as the newcomer baker with a total obsession with egg tarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will try to update as often as i can! i hope this chapter delivered~


End file.
